Pardoned
by Vanilla Hazelnut Latte
Summary: Hatter goes to Mirana about his feelings for Alice.


The orange-haired man sighed with relief at the sight of the White Queen's castle, and chattered excitedly with the Tweedle brothers, both of whose hands he held. When he looked up and saw that lovely yellow-haired creature approaching with a smile just for him, his face broke out into a grin of pure joy. He hadn't until this very moment realized how frightened he had been at the prospect of never seeing that face again.

She saw not the Tweedles running past her toward the Queen, nor her canine companion rushing off to greet his family. She saw only the wild orange hair and the man beneath it. With a broad, relieved smile, she said cheerily, "I'm so happy to see you! I thought they were going to—"

"So did I, but they didn't," he interrupted, his face glowing. "And now here I am, still in one piece." He lowered his voice and began to speak more quickly, stuttering on occasion: "And I'm rather glad about that now that I'm seeing you again. I-I-I would have regretted not seeing you again, especially now that you're _you,_ and the proper size." He gestured at her with his hands and stared at her, for some reason not looking at her face, but at her chest. Somehow, he couldn't look at her. He went on nervously, gaining volume until he was shouting, "A-And it's a good size, it's a great size, it's a rightproperALICESIZE—!"

"Hatter!" she cried, trying not to laugh.

His voice became hoarse and his eyes squeezed shut. "Size. Fez." He shook his head. "I'm fine," he croaked.

She grinned at him, and then frowned. "Where's your Hat?" she asked. He didn't look quite the same without it.

He looked just as confused as she, until they saw the very Hat in question floating down toward them. A certain blue cat materialized around the Hat, which he offered the Hatter. He took it gleefully. He had his Alice and his Hat, all rightfully by his side where they belonged.

"Chessur," she said, smiling.

"How's the arm, love?" he asked, and both he and the Hatter looked at the arm in question. Though the Hatter had not seen the wound, for which he was grateful, the bandage had been unmistakable. It had concerned him greatly.

But she merely glanced at it and announced, "All healed." His smile widened in another bout of relief.

The cat reached out and caressed the top of the Hat and said longingly, "Goodbye, sweet Hat…" He evaporated away, and the Hatter wrapped his arms around his Hat and turned it away possessively, glaring suspiciously at the spot where the cat had vanished. Alice merely smiled.

"Tarrant, so lovely to see you," came a voice behind her. She turned and he looked up to see the White Queen approaching. She stopped beside Alice and smiled warmly at the Hatter.

"Always good to see you as well, my Lady," he told her, sneaking a glance at Alice, whose eyes were on the Queen. "I do hope it's no burden to you if my friends and I stay here tonight."

"Never a burden, dear." The Queen saw his averted eyes and knew where they lay. So the Hatter had developed feelings for the girl, had he? It was a happy thought. She would be good for him. Tactfully, the Queen suggested they all return inside, and sure enough, when Alice branched away and went up the stairs, the Hatter was close by the Queen's side, his eyes lingering on the place where Alice had vanished.

"Pardon me, my Lady," he started nervously, "but would it be quite all right if I spoke with you in confidence about something?"

She smiled. "Of course, Tarrant. Right this way." She led him into an unoccupied study and shut the door behind them. "And how many times must I ask you to please call me by my name?"

He nodded. "Right. Mirana. Sorry."

"No worries." She gestured to a set of lounge chairs, and he practically dropped into one. Shrugging off her delicate and flowy hand façade, she eased herself into the chair beside him and placed her hands in her lap. "Now. What was it you wish to talk about?" she asked, knowing full well what it was he wished to talk about.

He looked distracted. "Have—Have you any idea why a raven—" He stopped short, and frowned down at the Hat he still held in his hands. "I've been… I've been considering things that begin with the letter 'M.'"

Mirana leaned forward in her chair. "Do you think maybe you've actually been considering things that begin with the letter 'A'?" she asked gently. "_One_ thing, perhaps?"

He looked up at her then, startled. "How do you…?" He shook his head and his face dropped into the expression of a very sad, very ashamed little boy. She knew he was in pain, but Mirana couldn't help but think how adorable he was like that. Meekly, he asked, "Is it all right?"

She reached out to take his hand in an attempt to comfort him, but he pulled away. "Of course it's all right, Tarrant," she told him. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Doesn't it hurt you?"

She was slightly taken aback, but he didn't notice. He was too busy trying not to cry of shame. She moved his Hat to the end table by his chair and firmly clasped his hands in hers. "Tarrant. My dear, it only hurts me to see you like _this._" Her voice softened. "You think I'm jealous of your love for Alice?"

His eyes gazed in the direction of his hands in hers, but they were unfocused. How long had it been since he'd felt her hands? They were still soft, like silk. But they weren't Alice's hands. Alice's hands weren't silk, or even cashmere—Alice's hands on his face had been like clouds, light and gentle, in which he could have wrapped himself and nestled forever.

"You aren't?" he asked blankly. His question was not reproachful nor mournful; it unconcerned him whether or not she was truly jealous. But he felt that perhaps she might feel betrayed, and forbid him from feeling these things. He'd come to her like this only because he assumed he would need her pardon to feel such things. He felt nothing for her, not like he felt for that girl with the tousled blond curls.

She shook her head slowly. "No, Tarrant, I'm not. For you see, I no longer harbor those feelings for you. Have you forgotten how long ago it was that we were in love? We were but children. 'Twas ages ago."

He frowned. "You don't care for me anymore, then?"

"Not in that way, no. But of course I care. I care for everyone. I care about you more than you realize." She smiled at him, and let go of his hands, returning hers to her lap. His still hovered where they'd been. "I haven't cared for you as a woman does a man for so long, I barely remember it. But you were my first love. A part of my heart will always belong to you. And that part wants you to be with Alice, with the one _you_ love."

There was a long silence, and then he seemed to shrink even more into himself. His voice shook slightly as he asked, "Will… will she have me?"

She sighed inaudibly, and replied, "I do not know her well enough to say… but you do."

"I—I don't really know when this happened," he explained, suddenly speaking quickly. "She left such a powerful impression on me during her first visit, and I could never forget her. But it wasn't like _that_—like _this_— And it wasn't even like _this,_ I don't think, when she came back, but maybe it was, I—maybe it just happened, or—or maybe it happened when she came back, or somewhere in between, but—but it wasn't—isn't—I never—"

"Tarrant," she urged softly; but it was of no use. It was the wrong name, and the wrong person saying it.

"—And_ she_ wouldn't, of course, since— After all, she just returned and barely knows me, and— That is to say, I thought she knew me well, I thought, _before,_ but she forgot us all, you see. She forgot…me…"

The two sat in silence for what felt like an eternity. Mirana had to look away when he blinked and spilled several tears onto his cheeks. Finally, she was able to say, "Tarrant… Why don't you go upstairs and find Alice?"

He looked up at her.

"Try not to worry about your feelings just now," the Queen advised. "We've the Frabjous Day to attend to, remember. That's tomorrow. After that, you will have all the time in the world to win her heart, if you haven't already."

He hesitated, then smiled slightly, as if her words solved everything. He stood, his pardon granted, and took his Hat off of the end table, but only held it, and did not put it on. "Thank you, my Lady," he told her sincerely. "You're right, as usual... I'll go to her now."

She smiled as he left, but when he closed the door and was gone, she sighed and thought of days long dead.


End file.
